Chapter 14 - THE LAST TIME I LET HER CHOOSE THE STORY
Mom asked to speak to me alone.
I said no.
She asked again through her attorney.
I agreed only if Laura was present.
We met in the same conference room.
Mom looked older than she had two months earlier.
That hurt.
I let it hurt without letting it change my decision.
She placed her hands together on the table.
“I’m willing to stay away from Rachel.”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“No?”
“You’re not being asked to stay away from Rachel as punishment for an argument. You’re being required to respect boundaries because of what you did.”
“That’s semantics.”
“No. It’s responsibility.”
She looked down.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“I took the medication.”
“Yes.”
“I was worried about her.”
“You were trying to make me believe she couldn’t function.”
Mom’s jaw tightened.
“I thought you were losing yourself.”
“To my wife?”
“To all of it.”
There it was again.
Marriage.
Baby.
Work.
A life she was no longer at the center of.
“You don’t get to injure people because you’re afraid they’ll leave you.”
“I never meant to hurt Lily.”
“You held her down.”
Mom covered her face.
“I panicked.”
“Because she was crying while you were trying to get the medication out of the house.”
Her hands lowered.
That detail had finally become clear during the investigation.
Mom had realized I was unexpectedly home.
She had been trying to leave with the handbag.
Lily started screaming.
Mom tried to silence her long enough to get downstairs.
That was what I interrupted.
Not discipline.
Escape.
Mom looked at me.
“Are you ever going to forgive me?”
I almost answered automatically.
Someday.
Maybe.
We’ll see.
Something comforting.
Something that would reduce her fear.
Instead I said:
“I don’t know.”
She began crying again.
For the first time in my life, I let my mother cry without changing my answer.
She signed the civil agreement.
The protective restrictions remained.
The medical evidence stayed with investigators.
No promises were made about what would happen next.
Mom lost access to Lily.
She lost the role she had tried to secure through control.
And she lost something she had always assumed was permanent.
My automatic belief.
When she stood to leave, she looked at me.
“I still love you.”
“I know.”
“Does that mean anything?”
“Yes.”
She waited.
May you like
I did not add anything else.
Love was no longer going to function as a password.
